


Written in Blood and Fire

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horizon Zero Dawn Fusion, Denial, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Outlaw Stiles, Time Skips, Unconventional Relationship, slight romanticism of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 19:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: “I could never forget how good with the blade you are,” Stiles starts from behind him, quiet enough that any nearby guards can’t hear, but loud enough that Derek can. “But,damn. This reminder was pretty –”Shoving the few shards and lone piece of glass sand into the pack at his hip, Derek stands and moves to edge around the building without even a glance to make sure Stiles was following. “Can’t you pick a better time to flirt?”“Challenge accepted.”--Or;Another Horizon Zero Dawn AU where this time Derek is Aloy, but Stiles is Nil and it's more than just killing bandits between them.





	Written in Blood and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote another hzd au, but this one kind of relates to the plot? but its also Extra? [heres the first one if you want dumb teen boys in love with each other](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11270451)
> 
> this takes. a different tone. so to start with that, [heres the music i was listening to when writing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVs2dZi8YGA) (tho please check the tags/warnings if youre the type to)
> 
> i think this can read without knowledge of the game, but it does have minor spoilers
> 
> god i love nil.

                “Did you miss me?” A voice croons into Derek’s ear out of nowhere and he spins around, spear steady in hand, ready to strike – only to stop in surprise at the man he sees sporting his trademark, shitty smirk at him.

 

                _Stiles_.

 

                He’d seriously thought he’d never see the outlaw again. Why he thought that it’d be that easy with Stiles involved, of course, he doesn’t have a fucking clue.

 

                He doesn’t drop his spear, but Stiles doesn’t seem to mind, instead only twisting around it to step into Derek’s space – why he lets him… well, Derek doesn’t have a lot of answers, not even to his own questions – and trail his long, stupidly distracting, and warm fingers along the patch of bare skin between the wraps on his arms and the furs that drape over his shoulders. He tenses up to hold back the shiver that threatens to join the goosebumps on his bicep, but while he manages to not shake outwardly, his grip on his weapon drops a little, before falling completely, and the evil, evil (seductive, tempting) curve of Stiles’ lips twist up a little more. “Because I’ve missed you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                _Darkness is starting to bleed into the sky, the sun already dipping between trees and melting, but Derek knows he still has a little time. Stiles said they’d hit when they could use the cover of night to their advantage and it’s still a little too light out for them just yet. Stiles also said he’d wake Derek up when it was time to go, that he could nap by the fire, but Derek didn’t take him up on that offer. He might be a little more tired when they’re finished with this, but at least he’ll be with an uncut neck and a pack unemptied._

_He doesn’t trust this stranger, even if he throws his head back when he laughs, or that his darkly-lined eyes hold an easiness to them when they catch on Derek’s own. He doesn’t trust that carefree attitude, not when they’re about to go kill a bunch of people._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                Just as the bandit turns the corner, too early for him to even see them, too early for him to even know, Derek has the sharp end of his spear in his neck. The eyes behind the mask shoot up towards him in fleeting fear, wide and scared and pained, holding Derek’s indifferent gaze as he falls to the ground when Derek jerks the weapon back. He’s still gargling on blood, choking, trying to talk, Derek doesn’t know, doesn’t care, when he knocks the bow out of weak hands, and goes to search for anything worth taking.

 

                It’s faster like this.

 

                (Not for the first time, Derek is glad that Machines are expressionless in everything they do – watching, fighting, dying. It makes things easier.)

 

                “I could never forget how good with the blade you are,” Stiles starts from behind him, quiet enough that any nearby guards can’t hear, but loud enough that Derek can. “But, _damn_. This reminder was pretty –”

 

                Shoving the few shards and lone piece of glass sand into the pack at his hip, Derek stands and moves to edge around the building without even a glance to make sure Stiles was following. “Can’t you pick a better time to flirt?”

 

                There’s the sound of Stiles nocking an arrow and Derek is almost a little pissed that he wasn’t already prepared to shoot somebody. Almost.

 

                (Stiles’ comment about his skills rings in his head and there’s a single traitorous thought hissing _maybe he trusts **you**_ , but now’s not the time for that.)

 

                “Challenge accepted.”

 

                _Well, at least there’s that to look forward to._ (His heart does _not_ speed up at that thought. It _doesn’t_.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                _The inside of Stiles’ cloak is red, while the outside is black. When Derek asks about it, Stiles shrugs a little, says the black blends in better, but the red hides the blood. He finds that on his clothes a lot, which isn’t a surprise, but what is, is that he says he minds it._

_“I like the act, not the cleanup,” he says, and he should look dopey with the lines around his eyes smeared, mouth reddened and swollen, eyes a little wide, but relaxed all the same, but he’s just as alluring as he was when he’d focused on the person in his scopes, when he’d grinned at seeing Derek take anything useful while he only grabbed spare arrows and knives. Maybe it’s just a thing with him._

_Derek only shakes his head, opening his mouth to say how he needs to leave, but when Stiles laughs, he realizes he’s said something else entirely._

_“A shame it isn’t white, then.”_

_It’d be embarrassing to leave right after saying that. Maybe he’ll stay a little longer. Just until the sun rises._

* * *

 

 

 

                “Perfectly good waste of bodies when they burn them, don’t you think?”

 

                Derek frowns at the question, not because it’s strange or weird – though, it kind of is, in a morbid way – but because he doesn’t really… give enough of a damn to have a good answer for it. “They’re bandits,” he ends up with, the _so why does it even matter?_ going unsaid. Stiles doesn’t even like bandits.

 

                He actually hates them, in fact. Kind of the reason why they’re doing this. Otherwise, Derek would’ve been down the road and skirting around the camp already. He just wants to get to the City of the Sun and get some fucking answers.

 

                “Yeah, but, you know,” no, Derek doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, most of the time. “They were your kills. I got there right as they started to pile them, but I could tell…” Stiles’ hand reaches up to brush through his hair and then lift his hood up, his arm sliding against Derek’s as he moves. Derek grits his teeth and focuses on the road rather than Stiles’ presence, the feel of him against his skin and the memories that brings, and everything about the man in general. “You have a distinct touch, if one looks hard enough. Those were gifts for me.”

 

                “They were not,” Derek snaps back immediately.

 

                The only reason he went through that camp was because one of the men at the guard tower asked him to take it out and offered a nice price for Derek’s work. They weren’t killed just because they’re bandits and Derek wanted to weirdly honor Stiles and backwards thing against thieves. He might have thought about him, a couple times, as he took the camp out, but he didn’t do it _for_ Stiles.

 

                Just the idea of going down that road would lead to madness and Derek knows it.

 

                Stiles’ hand skims against the small of his back, definitely purposeful, before fiddling with the edges of one of Derek’s furs until he twists away. “Whatever you say, sourwolf.” Derek inhales slow and deep at the nickname, ignores the warm feeling in his chest at Stiles’ remembering, liking it enough to use it again. “I know what I saw.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                _He can feel Stiles’ eyes on him, but he tries his best to pretend that he doesn’t, and keeps staring into their campfire. His gaze is going numb and by this point, he’s putting more attention into his other senses than what he’s seeing. After another few seconds, Stiles finally asks whatever he’s been wanting to, “You really like wolves, huh?”_

_Oh. The pelts he wears over his armor, or tucked into his boots. They were all there really was up in the mountains, and they were warm – all he had when it got as cold as it did. The foxes were pretty, but harder to spot, and didn’t offer as much meat or fur, so they weren’t worth hunting as much._

_He doesn’t feel like saying all this, like spilling himself to this man he’s met hours ago, who insists on pressing questions and should be putting him off with his fascination with giving bandits their earned bloody endings. He does turn to him, though, but he doesn’t even get a word out, doesn’t bother trying to. Instead, he takes in the way the flames dance in the fire, casting waving, shaking shadows on Stiles’ face, dramatically morphing his features with each passing second._

_Stiles scoffs, stretching out, but doesn’t take his eyes away, even if they don’t dip over his clothes anymore, but keep to Derek’s own as he talks. “No need for that look.” He kicks one leg over the other, snuggles into his rock, pausing to either give a dramatic intent, or because he knows what he says next will probably annoy Derek, or even both. “Don’t be such a sourwolf.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                Legs hiked up and ankles crossed around Derek’s back, Stiles pants and gasps and makes every noise in his power to cause Derek _lose it_. “I’m going to miss you again.” There’s a slight emphasis on _again_ – he wants Derek to know he missed him the first time, but it isn’t just that. It doesn’t sound final. He knows they’re going to end up meeting sometime in the future, coincidence or not.

 

                _Shut up_ , he wants to say, but his throat locks down the words when he tries, so he just bites harder on Stiles’ neck, bites until his breath catches and the only actual words he’s garbling out are variations of Derek’s name.

 

                (He only hopes it’s a good enough cover up for the way Derek squeezes, pulls him a little closer, at the way his body says _me too_ the way his mouth can’t.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                _“You like the rush, I know you do,” Stiles tells him, voice like he’s taunting, but it just isn’t so. Derek would wonder if he’s projecting, or if he just doesn’t see that Derek doesn’t have that thrill in him at killing, at taking out others who’ve wronged the world too much to be any good now. Sure, it’s nice, knowing that he’s done something good, but the hunt, the murder, is adrenaline and barely that._

_Still, he doesn’t deny it, because while Stiles is talking about the way they scream sometimes, the way they beg for the kind of mercy they never gave to anyone else, Derek’s thinking about the way Stiles screams, about the way he moans **no mercy, give me no mercy, Derek, I can take it**._

_He likes a different kind of thrill. They’re just similar enough it’s not the worth the bother of trying to say that isn’t like that at all._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                Derek’s pulling on his clothes, but when he glances over, Stiles reacts a little differently than he would have thought. He’s not looking anywhere else, forcefully ignoring that Derek is just barely two minutes from leaving, and the way he’s watching him isn’t hungry, like he’s trying to keep it all memorized before he can see it all again. He’s got this odd, sparkly look of _hope_ to his eyes that makes Derek fumble when he recognizes it. He can’t imagine what would bring that on.

 

                It’s not like he’s staying, or taking Stiles with him. He turns his back to the man, still naked and splayed out over his cloak.

 

                He’s just getting to his boots when Stiles pipes up, “You leave me more gifts, yeah?”

 

                He glances over again, mechanically pulling his shoe on as he flicks his gaze over Stiles’ peaceful expression. Something in his gut jerks and wriggles, much like that of a worm, but he still doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do about that look.

 

                “Don’t count on it,” he says, because that camp wasn’t a pile of gifts, anyway, and it’s not like the next ones will be, either. Not to say, of course, that there will be any others. But if there are… if there happen to be more dead bandit camps in the future, none of them will be gifts.

 

                A very slow smile spreads onto Stiles’ mouth, something about it that says he knows just what Derek means, what he’s thinking, and Stiles’ only response to that is: _lie_.

 

                His stomach flips again and in effort of not clearing his throat, Derek ducks his head and focuses on getting the rest of his stuff together. He needs to be on the road before the sun is up if he’s wants to make it into the City without too many breaks.

 

                Stiles doesn’t bother dressing; he only watches Derek get ready, wordlessly, until he leaves, that small smile on his face the entire time.

**Author's Note:**

> the title was lowkey a cheesy way of referencing dereks gifts. i really struggled with it so i dont care how lame it is anymore. its 4am and im doing stuff tomorrow
> 
> ANYWAY since you got here, itd be super great to get a kudos. and if you REALLY liked it, a comment would be super awesome. even if its just a smiley face. i love those. or tell me about your day. i know i talk a lot but i am also a listener. try me


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